The Secret Keeper
by StopTalkingAtMe
Summary: A quiet moment between Martin Septim and the Hero of Kvatch. Written for the Writers Anonymous All/No Dialogue Challenge.


**A/N: Written for the** **Writers Anonymous All/No Dialogue Challenge. I went with the All Dialogue option, which was an interesting experiment.**

 **The following story contains some swearing, and some mild sexual references.**

 **All comments are highly appreciated, and I particularly value constructive criticism. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

 **The Secret Keeper**

"Are you in pain?"

"Nothing that's like to kill me, Your Majesty."

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to call me that. Not when we were alone."

"Then what should I call you?"

"Martin will do. Or 'my love' if you'd prefer."

"Is _that_ what you think this is?"

"I'm not sure I know what this is. Of course, as your Emperor, I could order you to call me anything I choose."

"You could order it, my _love_ , but that don't mean I'd listen. I can think of a few other choice things I could call you, but not many of them are exactly fitting for an Emperor."

"Call me whatever you want. We are alone."

"Hardly. Not when the walls are made of bloody paper."

"I've grown used to it. I suppose you haven't spent as much time at Cloud Ruler Temple as I have."

"It's all right. Too many people. I like my privacy. And when I am in civilisation, I like being able to sleep knowing that there's solid walls of wood between me and anyone else. And speaking of sleeping, I thought Jauffre was exaggerating, but I'm starting to think he's right and you've actually have forgotten how. First step, Your Majesty–"

"Julia."

"–Martin, then. You sit down on the bed. Like that, see? There's a good Emperor. Then you kick your boots off. If you can be arsed to do so. Then– Hmm. Then what you absolutely _don't_ do is grab the backside of the woman who's just trying to help you."

"Forgive me. It seems I _am_ out of practice. What comes next? Remind me."

"What comes next is either the woman slaps your face or she kisses you."

"Ah. And in this case?"

"In this case she don't do either. She reminds you that you're supposed to be sleeping. And as gratified as she might be, and as pleasurable as she might find the experience under other circumstances, she's still aching as fuck from closing the Oblivion gate down in Bruma."

"So you _are_ in pain. Lie down on the bed."

"Martin–"

"Lie down. And you can consider that a command from your Emperor."

"Well, if you're going to pull rank, you'll find there's no subject more dutiful, or– _Gods._ "

"Better?"

"Mmph. That's... Shiiit. You forget how Restoration magic can feel sometimes, you get so used to knocking back potions, stitching up wounds... That's... _Oooh_. Mara's Mercy, I could get used to that."

"Consider me at your service."

"I won't and I can't, Martin. You know that. And now look at you. You're exhausted."

"I'm fine. You, on the other hand... What happened to you?"

"Cracked one or two ribs, maybe. Nothing so bad I couldn't cope. And you've healed them now, which I should probably thank you for, so, thank you, Sire."

"You know, you also have a lot of scars. Have you really no healing magic? A woman like you, with the life you lead, it seems unwise."

"Don't have the knack. Never have. I can mix a potion all right. A healing salve or two. Keeps me going."

"It's not the same though. Potions and salves only ever patch the worst of it."

"I don't care about having scars."

"Nor do I. I didn't mean–"

"Don't worry. I know what you meant."

"They all tell their stories, don't they?"

"Scars always do."

"I have some of my own, but I keep mine hidden."

"Along with your secrets?"

"I have no secrets. Not from you. Tell me, this scar here, on your ankle, which runs up onto your calf..."

"That I got in Black Marsh. Crossing the border after some smugglers. Back when I was in the Fighters' Guild, 'fore I went independent..."

"You mean before you got kicked out?"

"Who's telling this story, Martin? Me or you?"

"Forgive me. Was it one of the smugglers that did this to you?"

"Afraid not. Might have been less embarrassing if it had been. Sometimes I tell people it was a were-crocodile that got me, but I suppose that's treason or something, lying to your Emperor. Anyway, it was a fish. Bit me when I was trying to track the smugglers through the swamp. Some bastard monstrosity that was half-slaughterfish and half-shark. Nearly ripped my bloody leg right open. He got his though. Gutted, scaled and roasted the slimy little fucker and choked down every muddy-tasting bite."

"Sounds delicious. And this scar here? By your collarbone"

"Hoarvor in Valenwood. Blood-sucking little bastards. Well, I say little, but each was the size of a child's pony. Bigger, even, when they're fat and bloated with blood, and this one was. Most of its meal had originally belonged to a... a dear friend of mine, which I was already sore about. Then the greedy little shit made the mistake of trying to bite me."

"It looks like it hurt."

"Falling out of the tree hurt more. Still I suppose it could have been worse, since I was near a mile of the ground. Hit five branches on the way down, and the last one might have broken my spine if the hoarvor hadn't cushioned my fall."

"That was lucky."

"Not for the hoarvor, it wasn't."

"And here. Over your heart. It looks like claw marks."

"'Cause that's exactly what they are. Shadowscale assassin, after I'd relieved him of his poisoned knife."

"And were you the target?"

"Now there's a stupid question. What idiot would pay to have me killed when chances are I'll get the job done myself for free?"

"And yet here you are, still breathing."

"Barely. Now I've shown you mine, Your Majesty..."

"Julia..."

"Hardly seems fair, if you get to see everything I've got, but keep your own scars hidden away, does it?"

"The difference is you're not ashamed."

"I've done some shit I regret..."

"Show me a man or woman who hasn't. But regret, my dearest friend, is not shame. Are you ashamed of anything you have done?"

"Might have been. Once. Briefly. Then I got over it. So should you."

"Easier said than done."

"Isn't everything? We still do it, though. 'Cause it's that or... or..."

"Or get bled dry by an insect the size of a pony? Or get your heart opened by a murderer? Or let Bruma get razed to the ground?"

"Or let the _Mysterium Xarxes_ go untranslated?"

" _Godsdamn_."

"Probably shouldn't have brought that up."

"You're probably right. Wait, where are you going?"

"It's time I let you get some sleep. Let go of my wrist. And lie down."

"I'll do both, I swear on the Nine, if you'll only lie beside me."

"Lie beside you or lie _with_ you?"

"Is there a difference?"

"It's warm here, Martin. Well, warmish. You don't need another body in your bed to stop yourself freezing to death."

"I'm not so sure about that. You've been to Oblivion, haven't you? You've seen the Deadlands. And at least twice now."

"I'd like to forget."

"And yet you won't, will you? You can't. I caught the merest glimpse of them in Kvatch, and still that briefest glimpse has burrowed inside my mind, worms itself deeper with every second I spend translating that accursed book. The land is blackened earth, baked hard and dry. Waves of molten rock and metal lap against shores of rusting iron, and the air..."

"...The air is thick with ash. It burns, but it's freezing... Look, let's not do this. I really don't want to think about Oblivion right now-"

"...You feel as though your bones are filled with ice. As though you'll never be warm again. So don't tell me that I have no fear of freezing to death. A man can believe anything in his dreams."

"You're only saying that because you want to manipulate me into sleeping with you."

"Is it working? Forgive me, I joke because I think that if I didn't... I might actually go mad. Lie down with me. Please."

"Are you going to command me again?"

"Not in this, no."

"Then fine. I'll lie with you. But only because I can't sleep a wink in that dormitory."

"No walls of wood?"

"I'd rather sleep outside. By my own campfire. In my own bedroll. But we're too far north for that. I'd freeze my tits off."

"And that would certainly be a shame."

"Martin..."

"I need to clear my head. I can think of no better way–"

" _Sleep_ would be a better way."

"Forgive me, but I disagree."

"What would Jauffre say?"

"I'd really prefer not to think about Grandmaster Jauffre at a time like this."

"The walls are made of paper, Martin, damn it. I... Stop doing that. You– Wait, what the fuck are you doing?"

"You told me to stop."

"Gods bloody rot you."

"Ah. Am I to take it, then, that you didn't mean it?"

"Shut up and get back down there."

* * *

"How dangerous do you reckon Jauffre is when he's riled? I hope you'll be pleased with yourself, if you've got me into trouble."

"I can lie if you want. Tell him that I've never slept so soundly in all my life. That I slumbered like a babe. Although, given how much noise you made..."

"Not used to walls made of paper. Do you think they..."

"I think they probably heard you in Bruma."

" _Shit_."

"You're lovely when you blush."

"Shut up. And I really do mean it this time, Martin. Get some sleep. Jauffre's right about this. If you don't want me to feel like I've failed you–"

"Now who's being manipulative? You haven't failed me. Of all the stupid things to say, after everything you've done, everything you've been through–"

"Then sleep."

"Fine. I'm lying back down. And so should you. If I need sleep, you do too."

"What I need is to bathe. I reek. And anyway, I thought my presence in your bed was too much of a distraction."

"It's not. I mean, it was. Briefly. But now we're both sated–"

"That's one way to put it."

"I can think of several more."

"I'll stay, but on one condition. You move your hand from _there_ –"

"Forgive me, am I distracting you?"

"–And you shut your mouth. Or I'll tell Jauffre to make good on his threat of drugging you."

"Jauffre's no alchemist."

"Perhaps not, but I've learned a trick or two over the years. And my pack is filled with interesting ingredients. I'm sure I could cobble something together that'd keep you knocked out for at least a day."

"We don't have time for that."

"That you'd best behave yourself, hadn't you, Your Majesty?"

"It helped, you know. What happened between us tonight."

"I should have let you sleep."

"Well, for whatever it's worth, I'm glad you didn't. I meant what I said. When I sleep, I dream."

"Kvatch?"

"Mainly. It's got worse recently. Because of the... "

"The book?"

"The damned thing. I'd burn it if I could. As if such a thing could be destroyed. If there is evil in this world, true evil, it resides within that book. The thought of your carrying it so close..."

"I'm fine, Martin. Unharmed. Takes more than a book to do me harm."

"If anything had happened to you, to bear another life on my conscience, after everything that happened at Kvatch..."

"What happened at Kvatch was not your fault. Don't do this now."

"If I hadn't been there..."

"Then what? Anvil, instead? Bravil? Or somewhere without stone walls and doors that could be barricaded closed? And then you'd be dead, and where would we be then? You can't think like this."

"We might be better off. You know what they say, don't you? Bastards are like ants. Where there's one, there's fifty. There might be countless illegitimate Septims running about. We don't know for certain that I'm the only heir."

"Jauffre would know."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But even if he did, he wouldn't tell me. He'd want me to think..."

"What?"

"That I was the only one. That no other option remained to me but to succeed. He'd lie, if needs be."

"Even to his Emperor?"

"Especially to his Emperor. It's what the Blades do, protect the Emperors at all costs, even from themselves. He's sharp, that man. He took one look at me and knew there was only one way I could find the strength to do this, and that was if I thought it was this or see Tamriel overrun by daedra. I... I need to get back to work. The translation..."

"...Won't get done any quicker if you burn out from exhaustion. The translation can wait."

"As if I could rest. As if I could close my eyes and lay my head down on the pillow and close my eyes and sleep. When I try, all I can see is Kvatch. They don't tell me anything, they seek to conceal the gravity of the situation from me and perhaps you see now what I mean when I say Jauffre is perfectly willing to lie to his Emperor?"

"Martin..."

"I know about the gates, Julia. The gates to hell opening all over Cyrodiil. All over Tamriel, if I'm not mistaken. I'm not a fool."

"Ah."

"You could have told me. You _should_ have told me."

"I would have done..."

"But you thought I didn't need to know? That I'd be better off sitting here, safe and secluded, unaware that people are dying, while I'm reading a godsdamned book?"

"Pretty much."

"I should be fighting."

"You'll get your chance."

"And if by that you mean my chance to let people down, then, yes, I quite agree. I'm no warrior. An indifferent mage, a faithless priest... About the only thing I ever had any great talent for was drunkenness. And fucking. I was good at that."

"You haven't lost the knack."

"And much good may it do an Emperor. Mind you, I suppose it was a talent that stood my father in good stead. Where would we be now if Uriel Septim hadn't been such a dirty old goat? My 'father'. Gods, I still struggle to think of him that way. But after everything you've done for me I'm glad I could give you pleasure. So I suppose there's that."

"There's that."

"I'm grateful, Julia. More than I can say. For everything you've done. These moments, scant as they are, they have been precious to me. They're about all that keep me going at times, when I'm mired so deep in the _Mysterium Xarxes_ that I can hardly see how to extricate myself..."

"I don't like that book. I reckon you'd be right to burn it."

"I would if I could, believe me. I'm no stranger to daedric artifacts, and they're all evil to one degree or another..."

"Even Azura's Star?"

"The more benign an artifact is, the less you can trust it. Never make the mistake of thinking daedric motivations are remotely mortal. No daedra can truly be described as good or benevolent."

"Not even Sanguine?"

"Especially not Him."

"One of your hidden scars?"

"Not the first, but certainly the deepest. And one that I suspect will never heal completely."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"I'd rather not. But I will if you wish. If you ask me to. Set the matter of love aside for the moment – you're right, we barely know one another, much as I wish it were... that we had had the _chance_ for it to be otherwise – and as much as I might chatter on in these rare unguarded moments, and as much as you seek to tease out my secrets..."

"I thought you said you had no secrets."

"I lied. And not for the first time. I have a weight of secrets. A wealth of the damned things. And perhaps in that, I do take after my father."

"Which one?"

"Whichsoever one you choose. They're both liars. I thought the man who raised me a farmer. Instead he was... I'm still not sure. A spy, I think. An agent of the Blades. And as for my... as for my real father..."

"The man who raised you was your real father."

"Was he, though? Whether he truly cared for me, or if I... if I was simply another assignment to be endured. I'll never know for certain."

"No one ever knows anything for certain. What do you believe?"

"I believed–"

" _Believe_ , Martin. Present tense."

"I believe... I _believe_ he was my father. That he truly loved me as a father does a son..."

"Well, there you go then. That's what matters."

"And never mind that it might not be true?"

"Lots of things aren't true. Don't stop us believing them. Maybe Jauffre even believes you're actually getting some sleep tonight."

"I doubt that. These walls really are far too thin."

"And yet he'll pretend otherwise. Because what choice has he got? Other than hammering on the wall like we're a pair of giggling sisters that won't go to sleep? No, he'll pretend otherwise and watch you while you read that awful book and worry his backside off in a fretful silence. Belief's a funny old thing."

"I know one thing for certain."

"What's that?"

"I care a great deal for you, Julia. No, not love. Although I... I don't know for certain that it's not. It could be, I think."

"You know what?"

"Mmm?"

"I think I rather like the idea of being an Emperor's consort– Don't _laugh_ at me, Martin!"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. It was the dreamy expression on your face."

"I know the idea of me being an Empress is ridiculous–"

"No more ridiculous than a man like me as an Emperor. By the Nine, how's it come to this? Me? _Me_ , of all people. An apostate and heretic. A deviant. Even a murderer, some might say. Becoming the Emperor of all Tamriel. A coward who sits in safety while others fight his battles for him? Tiber Septim would spin in his grave."

"Heretic, maybe. Deviant? Possible, although I've slept with weirder. But 'coward'. If you believe that, Martin, even in your darkest moments, then you're far stupider than I took you for. And as for murderer, if you're talking about Kvatch..."

"I wasn't, although that is blood on my hands, Julia, and don't you try to claim otherwise. I can see the blame in your eyes, no matter how you try to hide it."

"You're holding up a mirror, Martin. Seeing your own guilt."

"This was before I became a priest."

"When you were Sanguine's?"

"I don't think there's ever been a phrase truer spoken than that one. I _was_ His, Julia. His in body and mind and heart and soul, in thought and deed and cock. His right down to my very marrow. I drank and I danced and I fucked and the thin mortal veneer on the world was ripped away and I saw... it was as if I saw the faces of the gods themselves. Saw to the heart of existence. It was joy and agony, bliss and torment, and I was _His_."

"But it ended?"

"As all things must."

"What happened?"

"We killed a man. A lot of people died, you understand – my association with Sanguine ended... badly – but he was the first and the worst. I make no excuses. We were drunk or drugged or dreaming. Perhaps all three. There's a fine line between pleasure and pan, between euphoria and madness, between sex and violence..."

"You don't need to worship the Lord of Debauchery to know _that_."

"What do you–"

"It doesn't matter. Go on."

"Julia..."

"Go _on_."

"Very well. We tore him apart. And still there was joy in it, for him as well as for us. He even laughed. For a little while. And then he wasn't laughing any more, but we didn't stop. We couldn't stop. We ripped him open, and fucked like animals in the gore, and then we left him for the crows. And I awoke, days later, from the delirium, with his blood dried to a crust beneath my nails."

"Is that why you broke with Sanguine?"

"I wish it was. I told you he was the first. I stayed for three more years before I managed to extricate myself, and that was the hardest thing I have ever done. I'm still not certain that I'm completely free. Even now, after everything that's happened, I'm afraid there's still a part of me that belongs to Him."

"I don't believe that."

"I'm not the man you think I am, Julia."

"You're exactly the man I think you are. I've had plenty of experience with priests before, you know. For all the lip service they pay to the gods, they're mostly a bunch of perverts. Why should you be any different, just 'cause you're the son of an Emperor?"

"Your logic is impeccable. You'd forgive me, then? For all but murdering a man?"

"I think you'd forgotten who you're talking to. How many men do you think _I've_ killed?"

"In self-defence. In acts of war. That doesn't make you a murderer."

"Fine line, Martin, fine line. Sometimes a girl like me has to cut throats first and ask questions later. But I am, and ever have been, at the service of my Emperor. I go where you send me. I went to Bruma, and tomorrow I'll leave for Sancre Tor."

"I have a better idea. Let's run. You and I. They can find another mage to translate the book. I know some scholars who'd be more than capable. I'll leave Jauffre a list of their names. We'll take the Pale Pass to Skyrim and keep on going, and all this can be someone else's problem."

"And the Ruby Throne?"

"I'm sure Jauffre can find himself another bastard to wear the crown and the Amulet of Kings if they ever find it. Jauffre's the sort of man who always keeps a second blade up his sleeve. And he'd have to be a bloody fool to pin his last best hope on a man like me. What do you say?"

"Ask me again in the morning."

"You'll be gone in the morning."

"And you'll have changed your mind. If you ever meant it in the first place."

"Promise me one thing: if I do sleep tonight, don't leave before I wake up. I'd like to see you before you leave for Sancre Tor. Gods, I hate that I'm sending you out there. I should be going with you."

"I work better alone. You'd just get in my way and work on my nerves. Much like you're doing now."

"Just... promise me. I'm not going to sleep if you don't and you can be the one who has to explain to Jauffre why that is."

"Fine. I'll wait for you to wake before I leave. And I'll wait for you to ask me again and if you do – which you won't – I'll say yes and run away with you to somewhere even colder than this fucking ice box, and that'll serve you right. Happy now?"

"Happier than I can remember being in a long time."

"Then why aren't you smiling?"

"Jauffre's wrong. I don't think I can do this. I'm not strong enough. This faith they have in me, it's baffling. They look at me and see... well, I'm not sure what it is they see, but I know it's not me. How can I be an Emperor?"

"The same way any other man is, I suppose. You pretend. You play the role. And you're doing fine as far as I can see."

"Because no one gave me a choice."

"Well, you have a choice now, don't you? Ask me in the morning, Martin. If you still want to leave. Ask me and I'll go with you."

"You really would, wouldn't you?"

"I told you. I'm at the service of my Emperor. I go where you send me..."

"But if I abdicate, I won't be Emperor any more."

"Oh yeah. I didn't think of that."

"I'll ask you. In the morning."

"Make sure you do."

"I suppose I should thank you."

"What for?"

"For letting me think, even if just for an hour or so, that such a thing might be possible. It's a pleasant dream, and I wish to all the gods we could do it. It seems I take after Uriel Septim in this: a touch of the dragon blood that runs in my veins, perhaps..."

"What are you talking-"

"I can't see myself surviving this, Julia. Whatever will happen, whatever I do, and whether we succeed in defeating Mehrunes Dagon or not, I'm fairly certain it will kill me."

"Then you really are a bloody fool. You'll outlive me, Martin Septim, I can promise you that."

"For once, I hope you're wrong. And I lied to you earlier. About not knowing what this is. I know exactly what this is. And I think you do too."

"Goodnight, Martin."


End file.
